Page 43 of Wicching Hour

Bracken glanced at me and then focused on the road again as he turned onto Lighthouse Avenue. “Really? That’s interesting.” We got stuck in traffic near where the whale watching boats launch. Bracken hadn’t been back long enough to remember to avoid this intersection. “Is it silly that I love the color?” he asked.

“Not even a little bit. I’ve been trying to restrain myself from touching everything. And you can drive around with the top off, if you want?—”

An image of a woman in a topless Jeep superimposed itself over the road we were driving. It was like a strange, disorienting double exposure. She drove down a short driveway, hit a button on a remote attached to her rearview mirror. Her garage door opened and she made the sharp turn inside to park. She stepped out of the Jeep, grabbed a handbag and a water bottle, and then hit the remote again. As the door came down, a narrow rectangle of light was visible for a split second as she walked into her condo.

Feeling seasick, I watched Bracken drive and turn but I was also watching that woman’s garage door. A man stood beside a fence across from the garage, out of sight of the street. Waiting.

Curtains in the woman’s front room opened. She came out, got her mail, and walked back in as she shuffled through envelopes. Once she was in, he moved toward the back of her unit.

“Arwyn? Are you okay?” Bracken’s voice broke through the haze. We were at a stoplight, but I was also watching the killer find a new spot to hide. There was a little copse of trees between the townhouse village and the property next door.

“I’m not sure what I am,” I said slowly. “I’m awake. I can sort of still see the street you’re driving on, but I’m also watching a killer stalk his next victim. I’ve never had a vision while I’m awake. I—I think this is happening right now.”

“Oh dear.” He pulled over. “What can I do?”

I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out my phone. “Can you call Detective Hernández for me?”

He took it from my hand and then I heard ringing over the speakerphone.

“Hello, Arwyn,” Hernández said.

“Hey. I’m having a weird vision right now. I’m awake, driving with my great-uncle, but I’m also watching a person stalk a woman. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Okay. Give me a sec.” I heard rustling and then— “Ready. What are you seeing?”

“A young woman was in a Jeep. I was thinking about Bracken being able to take the top off his new Bronco and drive in the sunshine and then I saw her. It’s like a double exposed image. One on top of the other.”

“She’s driving a Jeep,” Hernández said. “What else can you tell me about her? Did you see the license plate?”

I shook my head and then remembered I needed to speak. “No. It’s a black Jeep. The spare tire in back is covered in a pretty rainbow kaleidoscope. I don’t think there’s any writing on the tire cover. It’s behind a garage door now, so I can’t tell you.” Bracken held my gloved hand and helped me settle.

“I understand,” Hernández said. “Tell me about the woman.”

“Uh, I mostly saw her from the side and behind. She’s twenties, maybe. Tanned with long, shiny black hair pulled into a ponytail. She’s wearing black shorts and a white polo. Maybe a waitress uniform or something? I don’t know. Maybe she just doesn’t like color.”

“Rainbow tire cover,” Hernández reminded me.

“Right. If I had to guess from what I could see of her, I’d say she’s Asian. As for him, I can only see what he’s seeing. He hasn’t looked at the rest of the buildings, so I can’t tell you the name of the community or anything.”

“That’s okay. Tell me what you can see,” she said.

“It’s light gray with white trim. One-story end unit. It looks beachy. Not that it’s on the beach, just that builders around here make the condos look like they should be on a beach.”

“Got it,” she said.

“The garage is on the side. She drove down a narrow drive, hit the remote, and made a sharp turn into the garage. The door came down as she walked in. He didn’t try to follow her in. He waited by—you know how complexes often have communal dumpsters in a fenced area so it doesn’t look crappy?”

“Sure.”

“It was like that. The fencing is painted the same light gray as her unit. There’s a tall fence at his back. I can’t see what’s on the other side, but I think it’s a house—no idea why. That’s just what I think.”

“Okay,” she said.

“He watched from that spot as she went out the front door and grabbed her mail, still wearing the black and white. It felt like he knew that was what she was going to do, like he’s been watching and clocking her routine. When she went back in, he walked down the narrow drive to the back of her unit, where there’s a bunch of tall trees.”

“Trees again,” Hernández murmured. “Is he hiding in them?”

“Yes. Oh, there’s a strip of lawn behind her place and then a tall fence with vines hanging over it. It’s a weird cyclone fence hybrid with wooden slats going through the metal, so you can kind of see through it. A little, because the vines are blocking the view too. I’m piecing together the glimpses I’m getting, but I think it’s a large—I don’t know—soccer field, I guess, with a group of buildings on the far side of the field. Maybe an elementary school?”

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